The Druid's Secret
by RumpelstiltskinDearie
Summary: Ian Howe has escaped from Prison. Ben has retired from treasure hunting and has a 9-year-old son, and Riley... well, Riley is the same loveable geek he always was. But dangerous things are amiss, and Ian and Ben are forced to work together in a race against time. Rated T for violence at the moment, NO SLASH. I can't stand slash.
1. Trailer

**The famous treasure hunter, Benjamin Gates, has retired from the treasure hunting.  
**_Shows the following scenes:  
Ben with his arm around Abigail  
A little boy (Daniel), only a toddler, asleep in his bed  
Riley, Abigail, Ben, and the boy sitting at the dinner table, talking and laughing  
_**But when a mysterious man blackmails him, he has no choice but to return to it.  
**_Shows Ben in the living room, talking on his cell phone, a look of fear on his face.  
Shows Abigail and Riley confronting him to find out what's wrong.  
_Ben: They're going to kill all of us unless I help them.  
**The Gates family is not the only one dragged unwillingly into peril...  
**_Shows Ian on his cell phone, a look of anger lingering on his face_**  
**Ian: You know nothing!  
_Cut to another scene with Ian looking at his team.  
_Ian: A week from now, we'll be on another job. In London.  
**A druid and his secret...  
**_Shows a man hidden in a hooded black cloak, holding a slip of yellowing parchment out to Ian and Ben  
Cut to a scene of Ben, Ian, Riley, Abigail, and a young man (Dylan) searching through a forest, some of them with herbs in their hands; moonlight shines down on them_  
**They say that werewolves aren't real...but Ben Gates is about to find out for himself.  
**_Shows a rapid sequence of scenes:  
Daniel waking up in bed, crying  
Ben and Ian having a 'glare-down' in the middle of a street  
Riley sighing and burying his head in his hands  
Abigail clinging to Ben  
Ian and Dylan running through a forest  
All of them (including Ian's team) standing in a castle room, huddled together and all of them looking scared  
Ian shouting "No!"  
A tall man with long blond hair and a beard smirking; dozens of men stand behind him  
A man lying on the ground, lifeless and battered; it appears like the man is familiar, but you can't be sure  
A huge werewolf howling to the night sky  
_**The Druid's Secret**__


	2. Chapter One

**The Druid's Secret  
by Gwin Gold  
**  
-X-X-X-****

Summary: Ben Gates is happily married to Abigail. They have a young son of nine years old—his name is Daniel Boone Gates—who, as most children do, loves to play with 'Uncle Riley'.  
One day, a mysterious man calls him on the phone and says that they need his help to find two things. Ingredients for a salve that turns someone into a werewolf, and a famous historical item—a belt made of wolf fur that has the same power. If they don't, then they will pay.  
Desperate, Ben agrees. They've threatened him and all whom he holds dear. He has no choice.

**Author's Note: **Right, so. This is supposed to be a full-length story, but you'll have to leave lots of reviews in order to spur me on to keep writing. :P  
Also, the reason Ian Howe is one of the characters I named is because he is going to play a large part in this story. : ) I couldn't resist, he's my favorite character. Actually… most of the story will focus on him, though there'll be plenty of Riley and Ben and Abigail too!  
Enjoy, and remember to leave reviews, or I'll never finish this!

-X-X-X-

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!"

Daniel's voice reached Ben Gates' ears. He looked up from the newspaper he was reading. Daniel was racing across the front lawn, coming towards him.

"Look what I found!" The boy held something out to Ben.

Ben looked at it. The finding was a little gray mouse, its whiskers twitching. Ben smiled faintly; Daniel was positively obsessed with animals of all kinds.

"That's very nice, Danny," Ben said, trying hard to appear interested. "But you know what you do with all animals you find, right?"

"I put 'em back where I found 'em," Daniel replied, nodding. "I remember. I found him in the bushes!" The boy ran off again.

Ben laughed quietly to himself, turning back to his newspaper. In the end, though, it bored him and he put it down, returning to the kitchen. Abigail was busily preparing sandwiches for lunch.

"Hello, honey," Ben said. He gave her a kiss on the cheek, quickly snatching half of a sandwich before darting away.

"Hey, you distracted me!" Abigail protested, though she couldn't help but to laugh. "Don't do that again!"

Ben started to answer, but the front doorbell rang, distracting him. He went to answer it, and found a pleasant surprise on the doorstep.

"You know, I thought I was going to have to ring the doorbell a few thousand times before you answered. It's a Saturday, and we all know how long you sleep in," Riley said, hoisting his laptop bag over his shoulder.

"Riley! Hi!" Ben exclaimed. "What's up? Why the sudden visit?"

"Because I felt like visiting my best friends and my favorite little nephew," Riley responded, grinning. "Now can I come in? It's cold out here."

It was November, so Ben could understand why Riley was cold. "Maybe you should stay out there. Besides, you won't find Danny in here; he's outside."

"Let me come in anyway." Riley, instead of waiting for an answer, pushed past Ben and into the house.

"Abigail, we've been broken into by your favorite computer geek!" Ben called out in warning.

An exclamation of surprise from the kitchen and Riley's laughter told Ben that Riley had, as was customary for him, stolen a sandwich from the counter as well. Ben shook his head, smiling to himself.

"Daddy, I heard a car drive up," Daniel said, coming up to the open front door.

"I know," Ben said seriously. "There's someone here. Come on in, take off your coat and boots, and see if you can figure out who's paying us a visit."

Daniel obeyed, dropping his coat on the floor next to his boots. "Hello?" He hesitantly went into the living room.

As he searched, Riley sneaked out of the kitchen, creeping up behind the boy. Ben snickered behind his hand.

"Daddy—" Daniel started, turning around.

Just as he did so, Riley swooped down and grabbed Daniel under the arms. Daniel let out a shrill laugh as Riley swung him around.

"Uncle Riley!" Daniel exclaimed once he had his feet back on the ground. He tackled the 'computer geek' in a huge hug. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to come see my favorite nephew." Riley winked.

"I thought I was your only nephew."

"Yep, you are. And you're my favorite." Riley nodded sagely.

Daniel laughed again. "And you're my favorite uncle."

Ben grinned at the two, about to tease them about their exchange, when Abigail's drifted out from the kitchen. "Lunchtime, Daniel! Don't let your daddy or uncle come in; they've already stolen their share."

Daniel, ignoring her command, ran into the kitchen, completely unaware of the fact that Ben and Riley were following after him.

*8*8*

_Meanwhile, in a large apartment house in Dublin, Ohio…_

*8*8*

_I watched it all up close  
I knew him more than most  
I saw a side of him he never showed  
Pull of sympathy  
For a world that wouldn't let him be…_

"Dylan!" Ian snapped, annoyed. He could hear Dylan's music even from where he stood; the 24-year-old must have it on full blast.

Conri 'Dylan' Stevenson turned off his iPod and looked up. "Sorry, were you saying something?"

Powell and Phil snickered, but Ian just sighed. "Yes, I was, Dylan."

Dylan grimaced. "Sorry. What was it?"

"I was just saying that we should change hideouts in a few weeks," Ian said with a sigh. "And that you should be prepared for Powell or I to wake you up in the middle of the night to leave."

Dylan nodded. He knew the ropes—pack your bags, and then leave at night so that there's less of a chance of getting caught by the police.

"Okay, you can continue listening to your music now. Or playing poker, as the case may be," Ian said, glancing over at Powell and Phil, who both held cards in their hands.

"Gunnar, do you want to play with us?" Phil asked. "Poker's kinda dull with just two people playing."

The muscular Norwegian man shook his head, not looking up from his book.

Ian glanced over at Dylan. The younger man was on the couch, his knees pulled up to his chest. He looked sullen, his pale blue eyes distant. He was clearly thinking about his past.

Ian had found him on a street in England while pulling off a job; Dylan had been trying to pick Powell's pocket. After a few angry words from the Scotsman, Dylan had attempted to run away. But Ian had stopped him.

There had been something about the boy—19 years old, then—that had made Ian think he would be a valuable addition to the team. Maybe it was his piercing eyes, or the agility with which he moved, or even the bold way he talked back to Powell, but Ian had stopped him and made a deal. He would give Dylan a 'home', so to speak, with the team, if Dylan would lend his services to them.

The boy had readily agreed, and that was how he came to be here in an apartment with Powell, Phil, Ian, and the newest addition, Gunnar Hedin.

Ian smiled to himself as Powell got into an argument with Phil. He couldn't quite explain it, but he felt as though an adventure was looming on the horizon.

-X-X-X-

**Author's Note: **Just a filler chapter, really, but I didn't want to just randomly leap into the action!  
Also, the song in the beginning of the second half that Dylan was listening to was _"What A Shame"_, by Shinedown. : )  
Review if you liked it! Any ideas you have are welcome, since I haven't planned this out entirely yet!


	3. Chapter Two

**Author's Note: **Okay, just so everybody knows, I'm going to try my hardest _not _to turn Dylan into a Gary-Stu. Just think of him as another of Ian's henchman, 'kay? The only reason I might focus a bit more on him now is because he plays a big part later. And not because he's an OC; I just like putting OCs through the more dangerous things because I love the movie characters so much. :P So try not to hate him automatically just because he's an OC.  
Also, we should be getting into the main plot in this chapter, or at least into some excitement. Still mostly explanation. I promise that'll change very soon!  
Thanks to **Phillip **for the review! :) I appreciate each and every one!

-X-X-X-

"Nope, Timon is still better, no doubt about it," Riley decided. Without looking away from the TV set, he took a sip of Sprite soda.

"Simba!" protested Daniel.

"Timon."

"But Simba's a lion!"

"Exactly. And Timon's a meerkat. You don't see many movies about meerkats now, do you?" Riley smirked. "Lions are everywhere."

"Simba's the hero." Daniel frowned.

"He would have died if Timon hadn't saved him," Riley pointed out.

"Then why aren't you including Pumbaa?" Abigail broke into the conversation. "Honestly, Riley, do you _have _to start an argument with every cartoon Daniel puts in?"

"Because, everybody knows that a meerkat who acts like he's had too much caffeine is automatically cooler than a typical main character of 'the orphan who now has to avenge their father's death'. It's a lot more original."

"Quit ruining the movie, or I'll put you and Mommy in time-out," Daniel told Riley with such seriousness, it took all of the adults' willpower not to laugh.

"Oh, please," Riley said, throwing a piece of popcorn at Daniel. "I bet you didn't even know half the words I used."

"I did too. 'Avenge' means to get back at somebody for something, and 'original' means 'not used very often'. And 'caffeine' is the stuff Mommy says you drink too much of." Daniel, satisfied with his superior answer, resumed watching Pumbaa, Timon, and Simba sing "Hakuna Matata" on the television screen.

Riley raised an eyebrow at Abigail. "I drink too much caffeine, Abigail?" he said.

"Yes, yes, you do," Abigail replied. "And Ben agrees."

"You do drink a lot more soda than you should, Riley," Ben pointed out, entering the room.

"You guys wouldn't love me any other way," Riley teased, leaning back and taking another swig of his soda pop.

Ben was about to answer, but was interrupted by his cell phone ringing.

Riley smirked. "The national anthem is your ringtone? Seriously?"

Ben ignored him, answering the cell phone. "Ben Gates speaking."

"Ah, good. That means I have reached the right man." A heavily-accented voice-it sounded Russian-drifted into Ben's ears.

"Uh, what can I do for you?" Ben asked, faltering. It wasn't normal for him to get foreign calls. He could feel Abigail and Riley watching him curiously.

"Have you ever heard of Peter Stubbe, Mr. Gates?"

Ben thought that that question was rather abrupt, but answered anyway. "Yeah, I've heard a bit about him. Some people think he was a werewolf; others think he was just a deranged serial killer. Frankly, things like that, no matter how historical, aren't my forte. Why do you ask, Mr. ...?" He trailed off, realizing he didn't know this man's name.

"You may call me Yuri," the man replied. "As for why I ask, I think you should be able to help me."

"How?" Ben was getting a little tired of this cat-and-mouse game they were playing.

"It involves riddles, and a rather dangerous hunt, both of which are things I have heard you are adept at," Yuri responded.

"I'm retired from treasure-hunting," Ben stated flatly. He had promised Abigail when Daniel was born that there would be no more dangerous treasure-hunting.

"Oh, but I think this proposition will interest you." Ben could almost hear the man sneering from the other end of the phone. "Because if you don't help us, everyone you hold dear will _die_."

"What-" Ben started. "That's..." He glanced at Riley and Abigail, who were looking increasingly nervous, and decisively made his way to the downstairs bathroom and locked the door behind him. He could hear Riley and Abigail talking to each other in hushed, worried tones.

"That's blackmail," Ben hissed, keeping his voice quiet.

"Well, I won't lie. It is indeed blackmail. But think of it this way. You help me and my...colleagues deciper the riddle and find what we seek, and your family and friends live. It's quite simple, really."

"Why do you need my help? Why can't you find someone else?" Ben snapped.

"Oh, I have found someone else, actually. I'll be giving them a call soon after this. But I'm afraid I'll need both your expertise and his-your intelligence and his skill." Yuri sounded pleased.

"And you'll kill my loved ones if I refuse to help?" Ben said, swallowing nervously.

"That's the case, yes," Yuri responded, an edge to his voice. "Now, if you agree to help, you're to meet me a week from now, in London, at half-past noon. Don't bother finding me; I'll find you."

Ben hesitated. He had hardly gotten any information about this at all-a random statement about an alleged werewolf from decades ago, and an order to help solve riddles in order to find something.

But...Abigail and Daniel. Riley. They were his family...

"All right, Yuri. I'll help you."

*8*8*

"You cheat at poker a lot more than you should. Did you know that, Phil?"

Ian and his team were sitting in the living room of their apartment. Powell and Phil had managed to drag Dylan into their seventeenth poker game of the evening.

Dylan, however, appeared to be fed up with the fact that he kept losing to the two tricksters.

Ian leaned back in his chair, reading a newspaper and drinking tea. Gunnar sat in the chair opposite him doing...well, doing nothing much at all. At first glance it appeared as though he was sleeping, but then he would suddenly shift or open his eyes.

Ian wondered just what it was the man was doing, but didn't bother to ask. For all he knew, it was some obscure Norwegian tradition.

"Nah, I don't cheat. You're just a really bad poker player," Phil retorted.

Ian was about to cut in and say that _all three _of them cheated (it was true, after all; Ian had been watching the first few games and was amused to see that none of them played by the rules), when his cell phone rang.

Holding up a hand to silence the debate occurring, Ian slipped his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and answered. "Hello?"

"Is this Ian Howe?" A Russian-accented voice reached him.

"Yes, it is. Who's calling?" Ian asked. He noted that everyone's eyes were on him. Pretending to be annoyed, he mouthed 'go back to your pointless poker game' before returning his attention to the man on the phone.

"You may call me Yuri. However, that is unimportant. I need you to aid me in finding a certain item."

Ian raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? What makes you think you can simply call me up and ask for my services?"

"I'll pay you afterwards, of course. I suppose you would be indifferent if I told you that I'll kill you and your team if you don't help me? You don't seem like a very caring person, from what I've heard."

Ian gritted his teeth to keep from making a harsh comeback. No one knew a single thing about him. Everyone considered him heartless and cruel. Then again, all he let outsiders know was that he was an intimidating man and a force to be reckoned with. That was all they _needed _to know. They knew nothing of how he felt about those close to him.

Hearing the words Yuri spoke dredged up memories of Shaw. _If I had only gone alone, and left you with Viktor and Phil, you would be alive now, Shaw..._

Snapping out of it, he growled into the phone, "You know nothing."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Be that as it may, I'm asking you politely to help. If you refuse-"

"I'll help," Ian broke in. "But you will be in grave trouble if you don't pay afterwards."

"Your threats do not frighten me, Mr. Howe. However, I will pay you. So stop worrying yourself. A week from now, go to London. At half-past noon, I'll find you. Don't bother searching for me; I have eyes and ears in various places of the city, and will find you without any trouble."

Before Ian could say anything more, the man on the other end hung up. Ian pulled the phone away from his ear, and lowered his hand, glaring stonily at the cell phone, as though it were to blame.

"What was that all about?" Powell asked, popping open a can of beer.

"A week from now, we'll be on another job," Ian responded simply. No need to tell them all the details yet. "In London."

Powell and Phil talked about the prospect of going to London; a place they had gone several times with Ian and enjoyed. The poker game forgotten, Dylan wandered over to the couch and flopped down onto it. He twisted around to put a CD in the player on the table next to the couch.

Ian sat down on the other end of the couch to think. He had a hard time of it-thoughts whirled around in his head like a storm, and the music Dylan had put in was not a style he enjoyed.

_Lying here in the darkness  
I hear the sirens wail  
Somebody's going to emergency  
Somebody's going to jail  
If you find somebody to love in this world  
You better hang on tooth and nail  
The wolf is always at the door..._

That was the most annoying song to be listening to at the moment. Ian was having enough trouble trying to push thoughts of Shaw out of his mind, and that accursed song was not helping.

He reached over and swatted Dylan's arm. The younger man looked questioningly at him. "Dylan, switch songs. Or turn it off. Please."

It was hard to tell, but Ian felt as though Dylan had sensed the desperate plea in his voice. "Sorry, Ian," he murmured, reaching over and switching songs.

Ian sighed quietly, and leaned back, resting his head against the couch. Truth be told, he had no desire to return to London. There were too many painful memories there...

Of course, he had to. He would not risk losing another member of his team...another _friend_...again.

-X-X-X-

**Author's Note: **So, there you have it. A vague idea of the plot! As you can all probably tell, I'm awful at writing the first few chapters of a story. It gets better as the story moves on, I promise!  
Also, the song playing was _"New York Minute"_, by Don Henley.  
Let me know what you think. Do I portray the characters all right? Is there enough detail? PM me if you have any ideas for the plot, or information about werewolves that I might be able to use!


	4. Chapter Three

**Author's Note: **Okay, about four of you might notice that I deleted this story and then put it up again (I say four because I only had four views on this story; so sad...XD). The reason I did that was so that I could add a trailer I had been working on for this story to the beginning.  
Anyway! So, in this chapter is explanations and Riley looking stuff up online. And a bit of fluff. And maybe some other stuff that I haven't planned out yet. ^^  
Also, some of you might have noticed the mistake I made in the last chapter. I said that if only Ian had left Shaw behind with _Powell _and Phil, when, in fact, it was _Viktor _and Phil. I went back and fixed that mistake, so things should be okay now.  
One more thing. I'm kinda taking creative license with Peter Stubbe here. He was, in fact, a real person, but I'm pretty much twisting him to be a little more kid-friendly (as kid-friendly as a serial killer/werewolf could be) and not so...gore-and-blood. And also to make him more mysterious. :)

-X-X-X-

"Ben! Ben, open up!" Riley was shouting from outside the bathroom, pounding on the door with one fist.

Ben was startled out his thoughts, realizing that he had been standing in the middle of the bathroom, staring at his cell phone. The only other sound besides Riley and Abigail's pleading was the steady _drip, drip, drip_ of the sink's faucet.

"All-all right," Ben stammered, shaking his head to clear it and opening the bathroom door. Riley crashed into him; the younger man had been about to ram into the door.

Ben caught him. "Careful, Riley."

Riley stumbled backwards. "Ben, what was that all about? Who was on the phone?"

"Come on, into the kitchen, both of you," Ben said, casting a furtive glance in the direction of the living room, where Daniel still was watching _The Lion King_.

The three retreated to the kitchen, where Ben closed the door behind them.

"Now, Ben, will you tell us what this is all about?" asked Abigail, placing her hands on her hips.

"The man that called... his name was Yuri. He sounded Russian," Ben replied, stalling. To be honest, he didn't want to tell them what the man had said.

"What did he want?" Riley asked, sitting down at the table and drumming his hands on it. "Judging from the freaked out look on your face, it must have been somebody bad. Was it a telemarketer?"

"Riley!" Abigail snapped, annoyed.

Ben sighed, running a hand through his hair. "He said... he said..."

"Well, spit it out, Ben," Riley said. "Did he want you to buy a vacuum cleaner?"

"Riley!"

"All right, all right! Sheesh, Abi."

"He said he would..." Ben drew in a deep breath. "He would kill all of us if I didn't help."

Riley and Abigail gaped at him. Ben lowered his gaze, absentmindedly tracing a design on the tabletop with his finger. He could feel their eyes on him, even then.

"Maybe... maybe it was someone playing a joke," Riley hedged. Ben looked up and saw that his friend's face had gone pale.

"No, no one would play that kind of a joke. He sounded serious," Ben answered, sighing.

"Ben, you promised there would be no more treasure hunts," Abigail said quietly. Ben shook his head.

"I know I promised that. But I don't want any of you getting hurt," Ben replied. "And if the only way I can do that is to help this guy find his treasure, then I'll do it."

"He has to be evil, though. No harmless old antique collector would threaten to... to..." Riley trailed off, swallowing hard. He took a can of soda from the fridge and opened it, taking a long drink to try and calm his nerves.

Ben noticed with some despair that both Riley and Abigail were terrified. It was subtle, but clear. Riley's hands were trembling. Abigail's whole body was shaking. She kept looking in the direction of the living room. Towards Daniel.

"I have no choice," Ben told Riley. "Evil or not, I have to help him." He paused, then, as an afterthought, added, "He said he was going to call someone else up to help, so I won't be alone."

"You wouldn't have been alone to begin with," Abigail cut in. "Riley would have been coming with you."

"I would?" Riley sounded surprised, but then he nodded quickly. "I mean, yeah, I would."

Ben sighed again. "I don't know. You might want to stay at home and watch over Abigail, Riley."

"Why?" Riley asked.

Abigail frowned, showing her distaste at Ben's assumption that she would need watching over. But she also asked, "Why would he? What kind of a treasure hunt is this?"

So Ben told them everything about how the man had mentioned werewolves, and the salve and belt they had to find. When he finished, Riley's eyes had grown wide, and Abigail had her face buried in her hands.

"Ben," Riley said. "I don't mean to sound like Doubting Thomas here, but werewolves aren't real."

"I know that," Ben said. "This guy is probably crazy." He shook his head. "But he didn't give me any more information. I don't know what I'm getting into, and I wouldn't want to drag you into something you wouldn't want to do."

"Hey, I've been with you on the last few treasure hunts, and I'll be with you on this one," Riley pointed out, though he didn't say it with much conviction.

"And so am I," Abigail said.

"You...what-" Ben was startled. "Wha-no. No, you are not."

"Oh, yes, I am."

"No, you're not. Who'll stay here to watch over Danny?" Ben jerked his head towards the living room.

"He can stay with your parents," retorted Abigail. "He loves his grandparents."

"Abigail!" protested Ben. "What if-"

"What? What if there's _werewolves_? Grow up, Ben, werewolves aren't real!"

"No, that's not what I said! What if things get really dangerous?"

"Then you and Riley shouldn't be going either!"

"Guys!" Riley interrupted them, stepping in between the arguing husband and wife. "Look, will you calm down? Let's look some stuff up about this Peter Stubbe guy, and see what we're dealing with, all right? Then you can continue World War Three."

After glaring at Ben for a few moments longer, Abigail nodded and turned around. "Fine."

Ben looked over at Riley, who was already sitting down at the table and logging on to his laptop. "Let's see..."

Ben cast a glance at Abigail. She refused to acknowledge his gaze.

"Here we are." Riley clicked on a link and started to read. "Peter Stubbe was two things-a werewolf and a serial killer. Actually, let me re-phrase that: some people considered him a serial killer while others preferred to think of him as a werewolf.

"He supposedly could turn into a werewolf at will by putting on a special belt made from the pelt of a wolf. Some say that he had many belts; that he manufactured them and stashed them away, so that he could one day create an army of werewolves to serve him.

"According to his daughter, he was constantly going out to the wilderness. He said that he was speaking with a local druid to try and find the correct ingrediants for a special potion. He refused to tell what that potion, or salve, as his daughter preferred to say, was for."

Ben could almost feel Abigail's incredulous gaze burning into his head. "Well, that's... interesting."

"I'll bet you anything that this Russian guy of yours is searching for the ingrediants to that potion too," Riley said. "Either that, or he's searching for one of the belts. Either-or."

"You aren't seriously going to agree to this, are you?" Abigail said.

Ben turned his eyes on her. "Would you rather take the risk of all of us getting killed for not helping?"

A stony silence fell across the room. Riley, becoming uncomfortable, cleared his throat and searched for another article.

"This article says that some people speculate that the druid refused to tell Stubbe what the ingrediants were, because it was too dangerous," he continued. "And that Stubbe kept trying to convince the druid to tell him. It may have been something else that could turn a person into a werewolf at will."

"What happened to Stubbe?" asked Ben.

"Um... after spending most of his adult life supposedly turning into a werewolf to murder and, uh... eat kids and adults, he was put to death for alleged witchcraft," Riley responded after a minute, grimacing. "That's not fun."

Ben cringed as well. "Yeah, no, it isn't." He glanced at Abigail again. She was refusing to look at them.

"Who's killing kids?" A familiar, now-frightened voice came to them from the living room entrance, and all three of the adults looked up.

Daniel stood in the doorway to the livin room, a worried expression on his face. "Am I gonna get killed by a wolf? Or eaten?"

Abigail shot Ben and Riley a look that said, _Now see what you've done? _and hurried over to pick Daniel up. "Of course not, Danny."

"No, no, definitely not," Riley exclaimed. "Me and your dad were just looking random stuff up. You're not in any danger."

"Yeah, you're safe here, Danny," Ben promised, walking over as well and tousling his son's hair, ignoring the glare his wife sent at him.

"But why were you looking up stuff about monster wolves?" Daniel frowned.

"Just... because we, um... we..." Riley stammered. "No reason, Danny. Don't worry about it, 'kay? Everything's fine."

Trying to distract Daniel, Abigail said, "Come on, Daniel, let's go and watch _Peter Pan_."

The boy visibly perked up at the mention of his other favorite movie, and he and Abigail disappeared into the living room.

Riley exchanged a glance with Ben. "Sounds like this treasure hunt will be a heck of a ride," Riley said, trying to hide how nervous he was.

"Yeah, it sure will," Ben said, sighing and sitting down again. "I just hope that the other guy who's coming along for the ride isn't just a-"

"Jerk?" Riley supplied, beginning to skim through some more internet articles.

"I was going to say 'kid', but I suppose 'jerk' could work just as well," Ben answered, smiling in spite of himself. He looked at Riley's laptop screen, and the two men continued to research things.

-X-X-X-

**Author's Note: **I hope you guys liked that chapter. No Ian in it, sorry! But the next chapter should be completely devoted to Ian explaining things to his team, so there'll be a lot of Ian (and less fluff) in the next chapter.  
Please review if you liked it, or even if you didn't. ^^


	5. Chapter Four

**Author's Note: **I now have an official cover for this story! Made by Lucy of Locksley from the NaNoWriMo YWP site! I like it a lot. If you can't see it very well, try clicking on it; it brings up a larger version.  
Also, I've put a few reference pictures in my profile (including a picture of the cover). At the moment, it's pictures of actors who look like, in my mind, Dylan and Gunnar, those two new guys on Ian's team. I don't really completely imagine Gunnar as Eddard Stark (heck, I haven't even watched "Game of Thrones" yet; I'm 15, and my mom won't let me watch it. Doesn't mean I can't look at pictures though), but it was the closest I could get at the moment. :P  
Thank you so much to **Lucy Of Gallifrey **for the wonderful review! It definitely turned a rather dismal day into something a lot better. ^^  
All right, 'nuff of me rambling. Onto the next chapter!...and more Ian. XD There's going to be a nice, long flashback sequence here, centering on him and Shaw. His dwelling on Shaw is important to the story, so just bear with me here.

-X-X-X-

"So, what exactly is this job we're going on?" Powell asked Ian. The Scotsman got up to retrieve a bag of potato chips from the counter, and then retreated to his chair again.

Ian sighed. "He didn't say."

"What?" Phil's expression was one of shock. "You mean you agreed to it without knowing what it was about?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean," Ian snapped.

"Is something the matter? That's not like you, Ian," Powell said, frowning.

Ian shot him a glare. It was meant to be a _'stop asking questions' _look. Unfortunately, Powell had known Ian for much too long, and recognized the true meaning of the conveyed message. It was a despairing look that said, _'why do have to know me so well?'_.

His team was obviously waiting for an answer, so Ian sighed. "He made me rather... angry. I didn't think to ask any further questions." He kept an edge to his voice that clearly told them not to ask any more questions.

An uncomfortable quiet filled the room. Powell and Phil were still watching Ian. Dylan had averted his gaze, scuffing at the floor with one foot. Gunnar had returned to the book he was reading.

"So he didn't say anything at all?" Phil inquired.

"Just that he needed help finding a certain item, and that when we reached London, not to look for him. He would find us," Ian replied. He was unsure about whether or not he should tell them about the death threat.

"Well, that's not vague at all," Dylan muttered. "I'm surprised he even told you where to go."

"A week from now we'll find out what this is all about," Ian responded, though he himself wondered just why Yuri had kept the explanation so unclear.

Another silence fell across the room. Ian sat down in a chair at the small kitchen table and absentmindedly pulled his wallet out of his pocket. He sat there, staring at it for a long moment before flipping it open.

The first thing it opened to was a picture of him and Shaw. It had been a picture Phil had taken, when all of them-Viktor included-had gone on a leisurely trip to Scotland (the inital idea had been Powell's, of course).

Ian remembered the time well. It had been one of the last times he had ever been completely relaxed... one of the last fun times he had had with his best friend...

*8*8*  
_  
"Who knows how long this will last_

_Now we've come so far, so fast_

_But, somewhere back there in the dust_

_That same small town in each of us_

_I need to remember this..."_

The sun was bright and shining in Scotland. The sky was blue. Powell had said that that was strange for this part of Scotland-normally it was cloudy, if not rainy.

"Come on, hurry it up!"

Powell's voice reached the rest of the team, who were lagging behind. Phil and Viktor were a few yards behind the Scotsman, talking to each other. Ian and Shaw preferred to stay much further behind, enjoying the solitude. No one else was on the old Scottish road; it was just them.

"If I didn't know any better, I would say Powell was excited to be back in his homeland," Ian remarked quietly.

"He is," Shaw pointed out. "I've never seen him go that fast before."

Ian laughed in spite of himself. Then, noticing Powell sending an impatient glance their way, called out, "All right, Powell, calm down. We're coming."

At length, Powell stopped in a green field, gazing at it with a faraway look in his eyes.

"What's the matter?" Phil asked, stopping next to him.

Powell glanced over and grinned. "This is where I used to live. Someone else lives here now, but I thought we could stop for lunch in this field." He looked at the spanse of grass again. "I used to play here..."

"Well, I think that's a great idea," Shaw said, ignoring Powell's reminiscences. "I'm getting a little tired of walking. Don't get me wrong, the scenery is wonderful, but I'm tired."

Ian gave Shaw a teasing push in the shoulder. "You're getting old, are you, Shaw? Not much stamina anymore?"

Shaw shoved him back. "I've got plenty of stamina."

"Whatever," Phil said. "We're stopping, so quit complaining already."

"Yeah, stop complaining, Shaw," Ian taunted. Shaw smacked him upside the head, just hard enough to get him to stop teasing but not hard enough to start a fight-not that they would intentionally hurt each other.

When they returned their attention to the rest of their friends, they realized that Viktor, Phil, and Powell were already getting their little picnic lunch situated.

"We'd better hurry before Viktor eats everything," Shaw muttered. The Russian man ate a lot more than anyone else; it never ceased to surprise Ian.

The lunch went uneventfully. Or, at least, as uneventfully as usual. Phil kept throwing grapes at Viktor, who ultimately began cursing Phil out in Russian. Powell was off in his own world, a distant gleam in his eyes.

After lunch, Phil began cleaning the place up. As he did so, Powell said suddenly, "Why don't we go and see if anybody is home?"

"Why?" Ian asked, though he already knew the answer.

"I want to see if the house looks the same."

"You've been homesick, haven't you?"

Powell grinned sheepishly.

"All right, then. But if someone's home, we should leave," Ian said.

As they walked, Shaw whispered, "You do know he probably won't agree to leave, even if someone is there?"

"Yes," Ian whispered back. "If we get caught, though, I'm sure we can talk our way out of it."

"And if he has a gun? Do we shoot back?"

"No, I think it would be better if we just ran like mad. No need to get Powell known as a wanted criminal in his own homeland." Ian laughed quietly. Shaw joined in.

"Hey, you guys!"

Upon hearing Phil's voice, both Ian and Shaw looked up, smiles still on their faces.

And Phil snapped a picture with his camera.

"Phil!" Shaw exclaimed. "What did you go and do that for?"

"Aw, you guys looked so cute _walking along whispering to each other," Phil teased._

"You know I don't like my picture taken, you good-for-nothing-" Shaw called Phil a few choice names. Then, since words didn't seem to be enough to express his anger, started chasing him.

Ian sighed, watching as Shaw succeeded in tackling Phil to the ground. He hoped they wouldn't hurt each other... though he had to admit that it was quite amusing.

In the end, Powell and Viktor broke the skirmish up. Phil's camera was, surprisingly enough, unharmed. Before Shaw could demand that he delete the picture, a shout caught everyone's attention.

As it turned out, they had gotten much closer to the house than they had thought. A man was running out the front door, brandishing a shotgun.

Powell stared at the man for a long minute, then turned to Ian, awaiting an order.

Shaw also glanced at his friend, wondering what he would say.

Ian surveyed his team, knowing that they all turned to him for direction. Then he glanced at the rapidly approaching farmer with the gun. The whole scene was so ludicrous, Ian had to fight back laughter.

"What do we do, Ian?" Shaw urged.

"We do what I told you! Run like mad!"

*8*8*

"Ian?"

_Shaw! Oh, God, Shaw!_

"Ian, are you all right?"

_Do you imagine any one of your lives is more valuable to me than Shaw's? We go on._

"Ian, what's wrong?"

Ian was jerked out of his thoughts as someone shook his shoulder. He flinched back, wild-eyed, before realizing it was only Powell. He and Phil were standing in front of him, anxious expressions on their faces.

"You were just sitting there, staring into space, with this panicked look in your eyes," Phil said, concern clear in his voice. "Me and Powell were getting worried."

"No... no need," Ian said, shocked at how his breath caught in his throat. After ten years, it still hurt so much...

"Yeah, there's plenty of need," Phil retorted. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Me and Powell could hardly wait until Gunnar and Dyl had gone to bed. They're gone now, so why don't you tell us what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Ian insisted, swallowing hard and trying to get up. Powell pushed him back down into the chair again.

"Ian, we've known you for a long time now, and we know how to tell when something's bothering you. What is it?" Phil refused to be deterred.

Ian drew in a deep breath, realizing that his two friends were not going to leave him alone unless he explained to them what was wrong. "The reason I was angry with the man on the phone was because... he threatened to kill me and all of you if I didn't help. He said he didn't think I would care anyway."

"That's all?" Phil sounded dubious, but also equally worried. "We've been in tougher spots-"

Before he could finish, Powell elbowed him in the ribs, cutting him off. Then he knelt down so that he could look Ian straight in the eye. "You're thinking about Shaw, aren't you?"

Ian gritted his teeth, forcing himself to return Powell's gaze. "Yes." Again, Ian was shocked. His voice was so hesitant, so quiet. It wasn't like him at all. He wished he could go back in time to the way he was before. Stronger, more stoic...

And back then, Shaw had still been alive.

Powell sighed, putting a hand on Ian's shoulder. "We all miss him, Ian. Just know you're not alone in this. We're here for you." Phil nodded his agreement.

"Thank you," Ian murmured. He stood up, and this time Powell didn't stop him. "If you don't mind, I think I'd like to go and get some sleep now."

"Sure," Phil said. "Goodnight, Ian. We'll see you in the morning."

Ian nodded and headed into his room, locking the door behind him.

Powell and Phil were left in the living room. Ian's wallet, open to a picture of him and Shaw, smiling, the sun bright in the sky, lay on the table in front of them.

-X-X-X-

**Author's Note: **So sad... *sobs* I really am close to tears over here. Just so you know, after the flashback, Ian suddenly got another flashback of Shaw's death. I didn't type that up since, well, you guys probably already know how that happened, if you're reading this.  
Like I said, the way Ian feels about Shaw is going to be important in the rest of the story, so bear with me.  
That song in the beginning of the flashback was "End of the Innocence", by Don Henley. The reason I use songs is that it helps set the mood; I also love incorporating songs into stories. If you don't like it, then... well... I don't think I can change the way I write. Sorry. If it really really bothers you, I'll try to tone it down.  
And yes, I know that the flashback was unbelievably fluffy. Well, I figured that since all of them were such good friends, they wouldn't be all grave and grim, now would they? The flashback was meant to show how all of them were good friends, and to show that they're not just cold-blooded criminals, like some National Treasure fans seem to think.  
Please review if you liked this! :) It's going to be one of the first full-length fanfictions I've written since I was...11...and wrote an Indiana Jones fanfiction. It was completely awful, which is why I'll never put it up on this site. NEVER, I tell you! XD


	6. Chapter Five

**Author's Note: **Right, so. I noticed in my traffic stats that about fifty different people have viewed this story, some of them multiple times. Why aren't you guys leaving reviews? I mean, if you think the story is bad, let me know, and I can try to do better!  
Okay, this chapter will probably focus on Ben, Abigail, Riley, and Daniel. I don't want to spend too much time writing about Ian because I know that a lot of National Treasure fans prefer the Gates family (I'm including Riley there) over Ian.

-X-X-X-

Ben pulled his pajama shirt over his head, casting a wary glance at the bed. Abigail was sitting there, reading a book. She showed no sign of acknowledging him.

"Should I go sleep on the couch?" Ben asked. He meant it; he had obviously made Abigail quite angry.

Abigail sighed, smacking the book down on the covers. "No, Ben, you don't have to sleep on the couch."

"I'm sorry, Abigail. I wish I-" Ben started.

"No, don't be. You're right, you have to do this. It's better than putting all of us at risk," Abigail replied.

Ben stared at her, surprised that she had given in so quickly. Normally it took a few days to get her to agree with him. Then again, this situation was much grimmer.

"But I still want to go with you," Abigail added quickly. "Daniel won't mind staying with his grandparents."

Now it was Ben's turn to sigh. "All right. I'm not going to be able to keep you here, am I?"

"No, you're not," Abigail replied, a triumphant smile flickering across her face.

Ben shook his head. "I wish you would. I don't want you getting hurt."

"I don't want _you _getting hurt either," Abigail pointed out. "Won't we be safer if we're all together, watching each other's backs?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Ben answered, getting under the covers on his side of the bed.

Abigail retrieved her book and continued reading. "If we're lucky, this'll be easy and all we'll have to do is find some old belt for this guy, and we can go home."

Ben nodded, but mentally was saying, _But when are treasure hunts ever easy? None of them ever have been..._

*8*8*

It was a few minutes past midnight. Ben and Abigail were asleep in their bed. Riley was in the guest room down the hall.

Since he couldn't fall asleep, Riley was doing more research online. The whole werewolf thing was kind of freaking him out, so he was attempting to find more information about this Yuri fellow. Hard to do, seeing as the man hadn't given Ben a last name.

"Yuri Makarov... no, I doubt this lunatic we're dealing with is a plumber... Yuri Olafur. Hmm. No, wait. A rabbit breeder? Ha, that would make sense if this guy wanted a werewolf to get rid of the excess bunnies he doesn't need... nah, that's gross. Besides, this guy doesn't look like a killer..." He kept searching through the lists of Russian men with the first name of Yuri.

_"Cos this is thriller,  
Thriller night,  
And no one's gonna save you  
From the beast about to strike  
You know it's thriller  
Thriller night  
You're fighting for your life  
Inside a killer thriller tonight, yeah..."_

"Whoa, what? No, no, no," Riley muttered, just realizing what song he was hearing. He quickly switched songs on his iPod. "That is _not_ a good thing to be listening to right now."

He began to hack into Russia's criminal records to see if anything would stand out.

Just then, a terrified cry from Daniel's room startled him.

Riley threw his laptop down on the bed, yanked his earbuds out of his ears, and raced towards Daniel's room all at the same time. He wrenched the door open. "Danny?"

Daniel was sitting bolt upright in bed, tears trailing down his cheeks. His dark blond hair was matted with sweat, plastered against his forehead. The sheets and blanket were knotted around him, and he had a stuffed husky clutched in one hand.

"Dan, what's wrong?" Riley asked, hurrying forward and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Daniel said nothing, only throwing his arms around Riley and sobbing into his shoulder. Horrified, all Riley could do was hold his nephew tightly.

"Riley!" Abigail and Ben exclaimed in unison, bursting into the room.

"What happened?" Ben asked.

"I-I don't know," Riley stammered, still holding Daniel tight. "I heard him scream, and came running in here. He just started crying..."

Ben carefully pulled Daniel away from Riley. The boy stared at his father, eyes brimming over with tears.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Ben whispered, smoothing Daniel's hair back.

"I had a bad dream," Daniel said tremulously.

"Do you want to talk about it? It sometimes helps to tell other people about your nightmares," Abigail suggested, also sitting down on the edge of the bed. "What was your dream about?"

"Monster wolves," Daniel whispered, sniffling and wiping tears away from his face with the sleeve of his pajamas.

Abigail, Riley, and Ben all exchanged glances. Then Ben said, "What about them, Danny?"

"We were all in a castle, like the one from _Beauty and the Beast_," Daniel said. "And there were other people with us."

"Who were they? Your grandma and grandpa?" Riley inquired.

"No, I don't know who they were. There was this guy standing in front of us, and he was talking about something I can't remember. Then he put on this belt or something and he turned into a huge monster wolf. He attacked us, Daddy. Us and the other people, and we couldn't get away..." Daniel's voice cracked, and he showed signs of crying again.

"Oh..." Ben sighed, pulling Daniel into a hug. "Hey, it's okay now. There aren't any monster wolves here, and we're not in a castle. So we'll be fine, all right?"

"Yeah." Riley was quick to agree. "Everything's fine."

"I'm still scared," Daniel mumbled, sitting back on the bed and wiping more tears from his face with the sheet.

"Is there anything you want? I could make you some hot chocolate," Abigail said. "That usually helps you sleep."

"No." Daniel picked up his stuffed husky and stared at it for a few moments. Then he clutched it to his chest, hugging it.

The three adults sat there, unsure of what to do that could help the little boy sleep. Then Riley snapped his fingers. "I got it."

Three pairs of eyes looked at him. Riley fumbled around in his pocket to find his iPod. "This song sometimes helps me to sleep after I have a bad dream." He started searching for the correct song.

"You have bad dreams too, Uncle Riley?" Daniel asked. He got back under the covers, and Abigail tucked him in.

"I sure do, little buddy. All the time." Riley frowned at the screen of his iPod. "Ah, here it is." He turned the volume up as far as it could go, and pushed the play button.

_Dragon tales and the "water is wide"  
Pirates sail and lost boys fly  
Fish bite moonbeams every night  
And I love you_

Godspeed, little man  
Sweet dreams, little man  
Oh, my love will fly to you each night on angels' wings  
Godspeed  
Sweet dreams...

Daniel closed his eyes and burrowed further down under the covers, holding his plush husky close. Ben kept a protective hand on his son's shoulder, while Abigail stroked his hair.

_The rocket racer's all tuckered out  
Superman's in pajamas on the couch  
Goodnight moon will find the mouse  
And I love you_

Godspeed, little man  
Sweet dreams, little man  
Oh, my love will fly to you each night on angels' wings  
Godspeed  
Sweet dreams...

Ben felt his son's breathing even out under his palm as the boy slowly started to relax. Ben cast a glance at Riley, who was staring hard at the screen of his iPod.

_God bless mommy and matchbox cars  
God bless dad and thanks for the stars  
God hears "Amen" wherever we are  
And I love you_

Godspeed, little man  
Sweet dreams, little man  
Oh, my love will fly to you each night on angels' wings  
Godspeed  
Godspeed  
Godspeed  
Sweet dreams."

The song had worked. Daniel was now asleep again, cuddling up to his husky, his head resting on his father's hand. Ben carefully removed his arm from under the boy's head and got off the bed. He plugged in Daniel's lion-shaped nightlight, and left the room.

When they were all out in the hallway, Abigail said, "I'm surprised, Riley."

"What, didn't think it would do the trick?" Riley sounded slightly embarrassed, and refused to meet their eyes.

"No, that just didn't sound like the kind of song you would listen to," Abigail admitted.

"Hey, it's a great lullaby," Riley defended himself. "And little kids aren't the only ones who get nightmares."

Abigail shrugged and returned to the bedroom. Ben lingered out in the hallway for a few minutes.

"How often do you have nightmares, Riley?" he asked quietly.

Riley sighed. "It depends, really. I've stopped having them for now, but they'll end up coming back sooner or later. Look, Ben, I don't really want to talk about it."

"All right, Riley. All right." Ben took one last look inside Daniel's room, and gently shut the door. "If you ever need to though, you can sleep over at our house more often. You're always welcome here."

"I'll remember that," Riley said, grinning. "Now, we should all probably go and get some sleep."

"Yeah, probably," Ben responded, nodding once. "See you in the morning." He headed back to his room.

"G'night, Ben," Riley answered. Then he turned around and retreated to the guest room. Maybe he'd listen to that song to try and get some sleep now... he had had enough of werewolves and Russian lunatics for one night...

-X-X-X-

**Author's Note: **Okay, I know this seemed like a pointless, fluffy chapter in which I spent most of my time typing up song lyrics. But it had important elements in it that'll be vital to the story later on (probably... most likely...). So don't complain, 'kay?  
I don't own the songs. The first one was _"Thriller"_ by Michael Jackson (love him; one of the best singers ever) and the second one, the lullaby, was _"Godspeed (Sweet Dreams)"_ by Dixie Chicks.  
Oh! And the song clip in the last chapter was _"End Of The Innocence" _by Don Henley. I forgot to mention that in my last author's note.  
Again, please leave a review, even if it's just one word like "Good". I appreciate them, I really do. They make my day every time.


	7. Chapter Six

**Author's Note: **I promise, I won't use any music in this chapter. Upon my honor. *bows* However, I can't say anything for the next chapter, or the next, or the next...  
All right, thank you to my two reviewers, **Lucy of Gallifrey **and **Ianfan**! I hope you're enjoying the story; I'm having a lot of fun writing it. ^^ Reviews are always appreciated!

-X-X-X-

_And then he fell... Further and further into the black, immeasurable depths... who knew how long he would fall? Down... down... then he would land... maybe he would be alive, but in unbearable agony-_

With a gasp, Ian jerked upright. After frantically looking around for a few minutes, he realized where he was. He was in his bedroom in the apartment. Not underneath a church.

It had been a dream.

He sat there for several minutes, trying to slow his breathing and calm his racing heartbeats. He reached up and drew a hand across his brow. It came back slick with sweat.

Shuddering, Ian finally got out of bed. He was still wearing the same clothes as the night before-a gray t-shirt, blue trousers, and an unbuttoned sweater.

He slowly opened the door and peered outside. Not hearing any sounds in the kitchen, he made his way to the bathroom, staying quiet in case his team was still asleep. Once in the bathroom, he turned to look in the mirror.

His normally well-combed hair was a tangled mess. _I must have thrashed around a good bit last night, _he thought, turning his head to one side and then the other. It had been a while since he shaved, and a forest of stubble had grown on his face. Powell teased him that he should keep it that way; that it made him look more handsome.

Then again, he had never been one to listen to Powell's bantering. Ian leaned down and splashed a large amount of cold water on his face, running his wet hands through his hair.

After shaving and thoroughly brushing the snarls out of his hair, he exited the bathroom and headed for the kitchen. When he got there, he was surprised to see that the rest of his team _was _awake. _They're unusually quiet this morning... Powell isn't fighting Phil for the last few donuts._

Gunnar was the first one to notice Ian walk into the room. "Good morning," the Norwegian said, his tone gruff as always.

Everyone else's eyes were now on Ian. He managed to keep his face passive, though to be honest he felt slightly uncomfortable under their gazes. "Good morning," he replied. His voice had broken slightly, so he cleared his throat. If he hadn't felt self-conscious before, he certainly did now.

There were murmured replies of 'good morning' and 'I hope you slept well' from the team. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Dylan ducked under Phil's arm, snatched the last donut, and retreated to the living room. Phil glanced over, but surprisingly enough did nothing.

Dylan went to the couch with his prize and started eating it. He apparently had been listening to Powell's teasing; he sported a razor-thin beard.

Ian went and sat down at the table, sighing and rubbing his eyes, then his forehead with the palms of his hands.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" Phil asked curiously, studying Ian. "You don't look like you did."

"I got some," Ian answered. He was about to say something more, when Powell slid a mug across the table towards him. Ian took it, looking at his friend with mild wonder.

"I made you some tea," Powell said by way of reply. "Peppermint." He sounded sheepish.

"Thank you," Ian responded, the sentiment genuine. Peppermint tea was his favorite, but he rarely remembered to make it; mornings were usually hectic, with everyone trying to get breakfast. That and he was always thinking on something or another.

"No problem," Powell muttered, clearly embarrassed. He returned to the counter to finish making his own breakfast. Phil left the apartment with a brief explanation of, "I'm gonna go take a walk. I'll be back in ten minutes or so".

Ian bent his head and breathed in the mint-scented steam of the tea, trying to relax his mind as well as his body. It worked somewhat, especially after the hot beverage cooled enough for him to start drinking it.

Powell soon came over to the table and sat down across from him. The Scotsman said nothing. The two friends sat in companionable silence, Ian with his tea and Powell with his coffee.

The door to the apartment slammed, heralding Phil's return.

"Phil, if you come anywhere near me with that, you will regret it." Dylan's warning came from the living room a few minutes later.

Ian turned halfway in his chair to see what was going on. Phil had something in his hands, his fingers curled around whatever it was.

Phil took a step closer, now coming within five feet of Dylan. "What? It's just a harmless garter snake."

"Keep it away from me!" Dylan's voice rose an octave higher, cracking in a way that was pathetic for a 24-year-old man. He scooted over to the other side of the couch.

"It's not gonna hurt you." Phil refused to relent, moving even closer. He was nearly right in front of Dylan now.

"Stop! I said not to-no, don't even...!" Dylan scrabbled backwards, trying to escape. He succeeded in throwing himself clear over the back of the couch and slamming to the floor behind it.

Powell and Phil both burst into fits of laughter. A small smile flickered across Gunnar's face for an instant before it disappeared, and even Ian couldn't help but chuckle a little.

"Not funny, guys." Dylan staggered to his feet and moved as far away from Phil as he could.

Phil snickered. "It's harmless. I used to play with these things when I was a kid." He opened the window and dropped the snake outside.

"Phil, why did you do that?" Powell asked, frowning. "You could have hurt it, or killed it."

"Good," grumbled Dylan, plunking himself down in the armchair.

"Nah, there's a whole bunch of bushes down there," Phil told Powell. "It's fine." He leaned out the window. "Yeah, it's crawling away. We're only two stories up anyway."

Dylan was muttering something under his breath. Ian watched him for a minute. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Dylan glanced over at him. "I'm trying to figure out what Phil's full name is."

"How do you know it isn't just 'Phil'?" Phil questioned.

"Because I'm psychic," retorted Dylan. "Here, listen." He began to shoot off a list of names, some of them so ludicrous they made Ian snicker.

"Philadelphia, Philip, Philibert, Philidor, Philistine, Philippe, Philmore, or Phileas, like that inventor guy from _Around The World In Eighty Days_..."

"Philidor? Where in the world are you getting all this stuff?" Phil sounded incredulous.

"Did I get it right?" Dylan smirked.

"I wouldn't tell you even if you had," Phil stated flatly, flopping over onto the sofa and resting his feet on the arm of it.

"Was it any of those names he mentioned, though?" Powell asked. "I've always been curious about whether your name had more to it or not."

"I'm not saying." Phil shook his head.

"Don't be so stubborn," Powell said.

"I'm. Not. Telling." Phil crossed his arms.

"Oh, come now, Phil," Ian said, smiling. "It won't kill you. We've all got strange names here. Take Gunnar, for instance. Or Powell; his first name is Tadhg."

"That's a classic Scottish name, just so you all know," Powell added quickly.

Phil sighed. "I'm not gonna tell you."

"Come on, just say it," Powell persisted. "Please? Come on, I'll go out and buy you a drink if you do."

"If you make that drink a box of donuts, I might agree."

"All right, a box of donuts, then. Now come on, tell us your full name," Powell said. Apparently, his curiosity had won over his pocketbook.

"It's Philemon," Phil replied finally, burying his head under a pillow.

"...Philemon?" Ian repeated. He had expected it to be Philip, or maybe Phileas, even. But _Philemon_? Despite his incredulity, Ian kept from laughing. He didn't want to antagonize Phil, and besides, it wasn't really _that _funny.

"Yeah, Philemon," Phil growled, his voice muffled by the pillow. "Happy now?"

Dylan started laughing. Powell just barely managed to restrain himself.

"Come on, guys!" Phil snapped, sitting up and throwing the pillow at Dylan. "It's a Bible name, okay? My mom and dad were avid Christians. Still are, as far as I know."

Dylan continued to laugh. "So? It's still funny!"

"You're one to talk!" Phil exploded. "Your first name is _Conri_, for crying out loud! And you scream like a girl any time you see a snake! If anyone should be laughed at, it's you!"

"All right, all right, gentlemen," Ian said, deciding to break the argument up before it became a full-fledged fight. "Calm down. Phil, I rather like your name. It's very distinguished."

A silence fell over the apartment. "Thanks," Phil mumbled after a minute, scuffing at the floor with one foot.

"Now, are we all finished shouting at each other and infuriating the neighbors?" Ian questioned, upon hearing someone on the floor above them slamming something onto the floor-presumably the handle of a broom.

"Yeah," Phil muttered, still sullen.

"All right, then." Ian finished off his tea, then took the empty cup over to the sink and rinsed it out.

"I think we all need to take a day to unwind," Powell decided. "How about all of us go out for the day? Have lunch, take a hike somewhere, or maybe just drive around aimlessly?"

"Sounds good to me," Phil replied, instantly perking up at the thought of leaving the apartment.

"All right. Anything's better than being cooped up in here for another day," Dylan replied, shoving the pillow Phil had thrown at him to the floor.

"Gunnar? Ian?" Powell asked.

"Sure," Gunnar said.

Everyone turned to Ian. He looked around at their expectant faces, biting back a sigh. "I don't know, I think I'd rather just stay here."

"Oh, come on, Ian," Phil pressed. "You haven't been out of here in nearly two and a half months, other than the occassional trip to the grocery store. It'll do you good."

Ian turned away, towards the table. It was then he finally noticed his wallet that he had left there the night before.

He walked over to it, staring at the picture for a minute. Then he snapped it shut and shoved it back into his pocket. "I don't know, Phil. I think I want to stay here."

Phil moved over to him and said quietly, "It's been ten years, Ian. You need to move on."

Ian swallowed hard, feeling tears stinging the corners of his eyes. _I won't move on... I can't... _he thought. But he didn't speak the words aloud. Instead, he nodded. "All right, I'll come," he said, trying not to let a begrudging tone creep into his voice.

Powell smiled a wide grin, and a moment later the five of them left the apartment.

-X-X-X-

**Author's Note: **I know, I know, it's a filler chapter. Just bear with me; the Gates family and Ian's team should be leaving for London in the next chapter!  
Review if you liked, or even if you didn't!


	8. Chapter Seven

**Author's Note: **Okay, when I said that the Gates family and Ian's team would be leaving for London in this chapter, I was slightly off. They'll be leaving in the next chapter. I have to tie up some loose ends with the Gates family. That might not be exciting, but trust me, the next half with Ian will be. ^^  
Also, when I said Powell's first name was Tadhg in the last chapter, I was just making that up; I have no idea what his first name is, or even if Powell _is _his first name. Tadhg is pronounced "Taeg", with a long "I" sound as in "tiger", just in case any of you were wondering. That was the name of Sean Bean's character in the movie "The Field", which is why I used it. XD  
Thank you to **Ianfan **for the wonderful review on the last chapter! And don't worry, you speak English just fine. :) I understand you perfectly.

-X-X-X-

_Two days later..._

"I still think we should have just kept calling Mom and Dad. We only called them, what, once or twice?" Ben said, turning down the road that led to where his parents lived.

"Well, it's been a while since we last visited them," Abigail said. "I'm sure they just forgot to re-charge their phone or something. Don't worry, they'll be happy to see us."

"If they're even there..." Ben muttered. "For all we know they're on vacation."

Abigail ignored him. Ben pulled into his parents' driveway, then stopped and got out of the car.

He came around back and opened the door. Daniel had dozed off, his head leaning against the window. He had spent most of the night in Riley's room watching a movie on the techie's laptop-which, incidentally, Ben wasn't supposed to know. He let it go, however, figuring that one or both of them had been unable to sleep.

"Danny, come on, we're here." Ben reached across and nudged his son's shoulder. The boy mumbled something incoherent, and then sat up.

"Do you think Grandma and Grandpa will let me watch _Lion King _on their TV?" Daniel asked, yawning.

"I'm sure they will, Daniel," Abigail said, opening the door on the other side of the car. "Come on, out you go." She helped him unbuckle his seatbelt and climb out of the backseat.

Ben made his way to the front door of his parents' house and rang the doorbell. No one opened the door.

Ben frowned. He glanced at Abigail, who mouthed the words, _Try again_. Ben shrugged and rang the doorbell a second time.

This time, the door swung open, revealing Patrick Gates. "Ben, Abigail! And Daniel! Good morning!"

"Uh, Dad... it's noon," Ben pointed out.

Patrick paused. "Oh. I guess it's been a while since I checked the clock. See, Emily and I are just finishing packing up. We're going to be moving in a day or two."

Ben stared at him. "What? I mean, I knew you were going to be moving, but I didn't think it would be so soon." It wasn't much of a change; his parents were only moving a few miles down the road. However, the schedule they had was going to interfere with the trip to London...

"Yeah, we were going to call you, but we've been so busy finalizing the plans..." Patrick trailed off, shrugging sheepishly. "I'm afraid the house is kind of a mess. Boxes everywhere. You can come on in, if you want."

The four of them filed inside the house. Patrick had been right; the house was a mess. Boxes were everywhere, along with various tools and a large wagon, which Ben assumed was something his father used to carry heavier boxes from place to place.

"So, is this just a friendly visit or is there something else on your mind?" Patrick asked Ben.

"Well, it's kind of pointless now, but we were coming to see if you could possibly watch Daniel. Me, Abigail, and Riley need to go to London in a few days," Ben explained.

"Oh, well, you know we'd be happy to watch him, but I don't think Emily and I would do a very good job at the moment," Patrick said apologetically, gesturing widely at the disarray of the house.

"I know," Ben said. "It's okay." Truth be told, he had no idea what he would do now. But leaving Daniel with his grandparents was out of the question-the little boy was hyper, and needed someone to keep an eye on him. That was impossible when you were trying to supervise the moving of your belongings to a new home.

Ben glanced over to see whether Daniel and Abigail had heard the exchange. They hadn't. Daniel had wandered off to look into one of the boxes, and Abigail was trailing after him, reminding him not to touch anything that might break.

"If you want to stay a while, you can," Patrick continued. "I can't promise you that I'll be able to drag Emily away from cataloguing everything in the bedroom, but I could try."

"Sure, we can stay for a half an hour or so," Ben responded. "I don't think I'd be able to drag Daniel away from here either." He smiled. "He loves visiting you guys."

Patrick smiled as well. "We love having him visit us. You and Abigail too, of course." He started for the stairs. "I'll see if I can get Emily now."

Ben watched his father go, and then turned to see Abigail trying to get Daniel to relinquish a stuffed tiger he had found.

"Daniel," she reprimanded. "That's not yours. Put it back in the box."

Daniel was always just a few feet out of reach, laughing. He was obviously enjoying the impromptu game of keep-away.

"Danny, give the tiger to your mom," Ben said, walking towards them. "She's right, it's not yours."

Daniel stopped next to a large grandfather clock, frowning. "But..." He couldn't come up with a decent excuse, and his words petered away into silence. He knew there was no swaying his parents when they made a decision.

"You can ask your grandma and grandpa if they'll let you keep it," persisted Ben. "But for now, you have to put it back. Look, you don't even need to put it back in the box; just put it on top."

Daniel sighed, but did as his father asked. "All right."

"How come he'll listen to you but not me?" Abigail whispered in bewilderment, watching as Daniel gently put the stuffed tiger on top of the box.

"Boys tend to listen to their fathers more," Ben whispered back. "Except for the exception of me. I listened to my grandpa more."

"You still don't listen to your dad, as far as I can tell."

"Old habits die hard."

Before Abigail could respond, there was a greeting from behind them. "Abigail, Benjamin! How wonderful to see you!"

The two of them turned to see Emily coming towards them, a huge smile on her face. Ben laughed and gave her a hug. "It's nice to see you too, Mom."

After giving Abigail a hug as well, Emily turned to Daniel, who was preoccupied with staring at the toy tiger. "And Daniel! How are you?"

Shocked out of the daydream he was no doubt immersed in, Daniel spun around. "Grandma!" He ran over and gave her a hug.

After a moment, Patrick reappeared. At length, the greetings were over. Daniel shuffled around nervously, rocking from foot to foot.

"Is something the matter, Daniel?" Emily asked after a moment. Ben hid a laugh behind his hand.

"Well..." Daniel hesitated. "You see..." Finally, his words came out in a rush. "I found a tiger in one of the boxes and I was wondering if maybe I could have it."

Patrick and Emily exchanged a glance, quite clearly fighting back laughter. Emily turned and looked back at Daniel. "Of course, dear. That's one of your dad's old toys, if I remember correctly; we only kept it around because of sentimental reasons. It would be nice if it actually got some attention and love again."

Daniel's face lit up and he took the tiger down from the box, hugging it. "Thank you, Grandma and Grandpa!"

Patrick chuckled. "No problem, Dan."

The family spent an hour talking and generally just enjoying one another's company. Before long, Emily saw the clock. "Oh my, I should be getting back to organizing the things in our bedroom."

"That's okay," Abigail said. "We should be getting back home as well. Thanks for letting us visit."

"Anytime," Patrick said. "We enjoy it every time."

Goodbyes were exchanged, and within a few minutes' time, Ben, Daniel, and Abigail were on their way home.

*8*8*

It was a cold night. Ian could feel practically feel the chill seeping through the window and through his bones.

It was another restless night. He had gotten a decent amount of sleep the night before, but tonight... tonight he couldn't bring himself to close his eyes, let alone allow dreams to take hold of him.

A streetlamp across the street was on, its light shining in Ian's face. He didn't move though. He stayed where he was, standing slightly off to the side of the window, staring into space.

He turned his gaze upwards a moment later. Despite the city lights, he could still see a few faint stars flickering above. It called up thoughts of a song he had heard on the car radio two days before, when he and his team had gone for a drive around town:

_"Starry, starry night_

_Paint your palette blue and grey,_

_Look out on a summer's day,_

_With eyes that know the darkness in my soul..."_

Ian scanned the sky with his eyes for a few moments longer, and then returned to staring at the street below. Everything was silent, besides a few cars driving past.

But then he heard the sirens.

It was a sound he knew well. The police were on the move. He vaguely wondered whether it was something important or just a petty crime. Some teenager robbing a gas station, perhaps.

As he stood there, however, the sound of the sirens came closer and closer. Until, finally, several police cars slowed to a stop just outside of the apartment building. Men stormed out of the cars, heading for the entrance.

Ian cursed, and crossed the living room in a few long strides. He pounded on the door to the room Powell and Phil shared, calling out a warning. He did the same to Dylan and Gunnar, then went into his own room.

He reached under the bed and dragged out a duffel bag. He had the basic necessities he needed in it; an emergency kit, for times like these.

When he went out into the hallway again, he noted that everyone else was already in the living room. They had no need to ask what was happening; the flashing blue-and-red lights outside were enough answer.

Ian grabbed his cell phone charger from the counter, stuffing it into his bag. He threw on his jacket. "All right, are we ready to get out of here?"

Powell nodded. He had a backpack on, and a laptop bag in his right hand. The rest of the team had similar luggage.

"The front door is out of the question. Dylan, Gunnar, are those dumpsters still outside your window?"

Gunnar nodded. "Yes."

"We'll have to escape through your window then. Come on." Ian headed for Gunnar and Dylan's bedroom. He went over to the window and opened it.

Two stories below, there were several dumpsters. To the right of Ian, there was a pipe that snaked all the way down to the ground; a gutter of sorts. Other than that, there was nowhere to go.

Ian started to tell his team to be careful, but Dylan had already climbed out the window. He took hold of the pipe and slid down to the ground. He disappeared into the shadows a minute later; presumably to make sure the coast was clear.

"Go on," Ian hissed to the rest of the men in the room. Phil was next, opting to slither down the pipe like Dylan did. Gunnar and Powell, however, simply jumped, landing on top of the closed dumpsters.

Ian bit his lip, realizing how eerily similar this jump was to the one he had executed under Trinity Church, onto the elevator... though he had actually fallen rather than jumped.

"Come on, Ian!" Powell called in a half-whisper, half-yell. "Hurry!"

Ian swallowed his fear, swung his legs out the window, and leapt. His feet slammed into the dumpster, sending a fiery jolt of pain through his legs and into his body. He fell forward, and would have crashed to the concrete if Powell and Gunnar hadn't caught him.

After a few moments of walking, his legs stopped shaking and the pain subsided. Realizing they no longer needed to support their friend and leader, Powell and Gunnar let him go. They sped their pace, and a few minutes later, they met Dylan and Phil at the car.

"Quick. They're bound to notice we're gone soon," Dylan said.

Phil went around the driver's side of their minivan, pulled open the door, and got in. He turned the key in the ignition, revving the engine.

Ian got into the middle seat. Dylan stole shotgun, while Powell got in next to Ian. Gunnar decided to take the backseat.

Mere seconds later, Phil sped off down the back way, hoping to put a good distance between them and the apartment house before the police figured out where they had gone.

Ian leaned back against the seat, his breathing gradually slowing until it reached its normal pace. He closed his eyes, feeling strangely exhausted. He shed his jacket, bunched it up, and rested his head against the window, using it as a pillow.

He could hear Dylan and Phil talking in the front, but didn't bother trying to figure out what they were saying. All he wanted to do right now was sleep...

And eventually he did. There were no nightmares; perhaps because, in his subconscious, he knew that his friends were right there, and he had no need to be afraid. Whatever the case, in that old, beaten-up minivan, he slept better than he had in a long time.

-X-X-X-

**Author's Note: **Okay, now in the next chapter, they'll all be leaving for London, I promise!  
Also, the song I had in this chapter was "Starry Starry Night". The version I listened to was sang by Ronan Keating. ^^


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